Art and the 10,000 Hour Rule

Best-selling author Malcolm Gladwell wrote a book a few years ago called, Outliers: The Story of Success, which is, in his words, about “men and women who, for one reason or
another, are so accomplished and so extraordinary and so outside of
ordinary experience that they are as puzzling to the rest of us as a
cold day in August.” In the book, he looks at a wide variety of people
and occupations, from airline pilots to entrepreneurs to hockey players
to software engineers, and identifies and examines the attributes of
success. Beyond talent and intelligence and ability, many of the
characteristics of success include things largely outside of our
control, things like “culture and community and family and generation.”

I was fascinated by one startling point he makes. The uncommonly
successful person has spent at least 10,000 hours honing one’s skills.
He argues that the 10,000 Hour Rule applies universally—tennis prodigies, chess champions, scientists,
classical musicians, and successful business entrepreneurs all share the
trait.

Of course, it wasn’t long until I started doing the math of my own
life. I started playing the piano when I was almost 5, and worked my
way through a half dozen piano teachers until I was 13: ~1400 modest
hours. Played clarinet in school bands and was introduced to student
conducting, in addition to some amateur songwriting and playing piano
and keyboards, so to age 16: ~3,500 hours. Played coffee houses and
other gigs, began performing with bands, and learned the craft of studio
recording, so to age 21: ~4,900 hours.
Given I had a day job as an aerospace engineer, I still played steadily
in bands (fusion, rock, church, originals), taught myself to play jazz
piano bar, began recording independent projects in a demo studio, took
classes and conferences and read books, and I did a whole mess of
songwriting, so by age 29: ~9,600 hours. And if I were honest with
myself, I still wasn’t all that good of a musician.

So I probably hit the 10,000 Hour Rule around age 30, the same time I
entered into full-time vocational ministry. And in retrospect, that
was the period of my life when I actually started to get pretty good at
what I did. I was recording some of the best music of my life,
was leading worship bands at church as well as my own band, was
arranging and songwriting and gigging some big gigs. And also—probably
not coincidentally—I think that was about the time in my life when I
began to understand that I didn’t have to prove anything anymore.

Gladwell cites the Beatles who as a group honed their skill and sound
by playing over 1,200 gigs in Hamburg nightclubs between 1960 and
1964. By the time they had been “discovered,” they had amassed over
10,000 hours focusing their talents, honing their skills, characterizing
their unique sound, and forging their group identity—and the musical
world was never the same.

I think about the many artists I know—musicians, painters,
filmmakers, dancers, actors, writers—and the price they must pay in
order to be good at what they are passionate about. I think about the
aspiring 22 year old songwriter who just released his first CD, the
young 24 year old aspiring filmmaker who is wondering whether he should
quit his day job, the 30-something worship leader who just wrote his
first book, the 18 year old vocalist who is trying to figure out whether
to major in music, the 50 year old mom who fell in love with the cello
and is seriously taking lessons. And while I believe Gladwell is right
in asserting that much of success is beyond our control, one of the
things that is in our control is dedication to our craft.

In a celebrity-driven world where auto-tune and Justin Beibers exist,
work ethic seems a quaint notion at times. But we do have an
obligation to steward that which God gives us. And that includes the
talents given to us as artists. In other words: Do The Math.

“From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded,
and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be
asked.” Luke 12:48 NIV

Comments

I find that "family" is stunningly important in this matter of 10,000 hours. For instance, I was raised in a don't-put-all-your-eggs-in-one-basket sort of family. And yet, when I look around and see the best in the world at their given trades, they are the best because they were allowed--or in rebellion seized from their family's dominant philosophy--the intense focus which allows for the collection of 10,000 hours.

In your case, as an artist, Manuel, you can spread that collection over more years. You have most of a lifetime to hone and share your craft. Meanwhile, athletes had better get to it early, or their bodies will start declining before they've packed in the hours. And they will only get to it in families that say, "You want to play more baseball today (or whatever it may be)? Go right ahead."

I find value in both the "eggs" and the "all-or-nothing" philosophies. But what is intriguing is that, spiritually speaking, nearly all the emphasis is on the latter. We are to give Jesus everything we've got, and normally we are to do that with the things He has made us best at.

A rock musician turned rocket engineer turned Christian artist, MANUEL LUZ is a creative arts pastor, working musician, and author. His new book, Imagine That: Discovering Your Unique Role as a Christian Artist, is released by Moody Publishers.